


A Necessary Evil

by akamww3



Series: Advantages [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Married Mollcroft, Mollcroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5445521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It was just a stupid accident ...</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Necessary Evil

The sudden shock of pain was overwhelming for the moment. Molly couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t comfort a whimpering Michael. All she could do was continue to lie face-down on the hard pavement and hope that her attempts to draw air into her lungs would soon relieve the temporary paralysis of her diaphragm. In the meantime, she tried to take stock of the situation – most importantly, she believed the baby was perfectly safe in the pram and simply fussing because he couldn’t see her. The pain in her head would surely be no more than the temporary result of her forehead hitting the hard surface and the sharp stinging of her face simply from scrapes caused by its thin flesh doing the same. Burning palms, ditto.

_Breathe, Molly. Calm, slow breaths. In through your mouth. Try to expand your lungs. Relieve the spasm. Don’t try to move too quickly. Be patient for a few minutes._

Molly’s attempt to breathe properly was interrupted by a spurt of panic when a strange hand came to rest on her back and someone crouched next to her, but then she focused on the sound of the voice.

 _“Mrs. Holmes!”_ A sharp intake of breath. _“Are you all right, Mrs. Holmes?”_

She knew that voice. A man. Who was it … _Andrew._

 _“The … ba … by,”_ she said breathlessly. _“Check … on … Mi … chael.”_

The hand left her back and she heard the scrape of Andrew’s shoe against the pavement as he got to his feet. Michael continued to fuss, but she heard Andrew talking to him, telling him his mother was all right, that they were going to help her and would get him home soon. If she’d had the breath, Molly would have smiled at hearing one of Mycroft’s agents talk to the baby as if he were an adult.

Molly winced as she pulled her hands closer and set her sore palms on the pavement beside her shoulders. When she started to press herself up, Andrew curved his hands under her sides, then paused. “Are you sure you should move, Mrs. Holmes?”

“Help … me up … please.”

Andrew still hesitated, but when Molly’s muscles tensed and she raised herself enough to clear the surface of the pavement, his hands tightened and he lifted slowly and steadily until she was sitting on her calves. He kept hold of her when she rested her hands on her thighs and pushed against them to straighten her back, then he dropped to his knees beside her. Molly glanced at him briefly before again looking at the pram. She could see Michael’s feet kicking and he wasn’t fussing any longer.

“Is the … baby … all right?”

Andrew glanced at the pram, then his eyes returned to her face. “He seems fine to me, Mrs. Holmes. But your face …”

Molly’s eyes met his as she raised a hand to her forehead. She winced when her fingers touched the abraded skin, then she lowered her eyes to her hand and studied the blood on her fingers. She looked at Andrew again. “Is it … bad?”

His gaze moved around her face, then the corners of his lips finally turned up. “I’ve seen much worse, but I’ve seen multiple gunshot wounds.”

“Don’t … joke … Andrew,” she said. “You’re … as bad as … I am.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing for a couple of minutes, and Andrew silently waited beside her. Molly finally took a deep breath and held it, then slowly released the breath through her nose. “I’m all right,” she said in a more normal tone, then held out a hand. “Help me up, please.”

Andrew got to his feet, then slipped both hands under Molly’s underarms and carefully lifted her in stages, first to her knees, then more slowly to her feet. He kept hold of her upper arms until he was sure she had her balance. “Do you feel dizzy? Does your chest hurt?”

“My face and palms hurt,” Molly said, grinning wryly. “Oh _ow_ … that hurt, too.” She pressed her hands to her stomach and ribs and sternum and, after flicking a gaze at Andrew, brushed them over her breasts. “I don’t think I’ve done any damage elsewhere except some bruising, perhaps.” Molly looked at her palms, which had bled a little but mostly the skin was roughened by surface scrapes and grit from the pavement. “It was just a stupid accident,” she said. “I was walking too fast, tripped and fell flat, and knocked my wind out. I’m just thankful I didn’t upset the pram and injure Michael.”

She took the two steps to the pram, limping a bit, and bent toward Michael, waiting for his eyes to focus on her face. “I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetie,” Molly said softly, brushing his cheek with the clean tip of a finger. She smiled at him despite the resulting stretch of scraped skin, and after a moment the baby gave her a gummy smile in return and waved his fists.

“We need to get you to the nearest A and E,” Andrew said, pulling his phone from a pocket as he turned aside.

“I am _not_ going to hospital, Andrew,” Molly said evenly, looking up. “I can take care of these scrapes at home.” She straightened and took a step toward him. “Who are you calling? _Andrew?”_

The agent ignored her raised voice and moved farther away, talking softly. When Molly’s hand grabbed his arm, he turned toward her, frowning. “She says she’s fine, sir.”

“Is that Mycroft?” Molly huffed in annoyance. “Give me the phone.” Her fingers tightened on his arm and she held the other hand out, scraped palm facing up. “Andrew … if that’s my husband, _give me the phone … now!”_

Andrew’s eyes met hers, then rose to her forehead. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly before handing the phone to her.

“Mycroft –”

“Subdural hematoma, Molly,” Mycroft said sharply, as he left his building and crossed the pavement toward Walter and the car. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Mycroft –”

“You hit your head on the pavement, did you not?”

“Yes, but –”

“Snow, Molly,” he said evenly, meeting Walter’s eyes in the rearview mirror and signaling for him to go with a lift of his chin. “People have hit their heads even on snow-covered ground with unexpectedly serious consequences.”

“I know that, Mycroft,” Molly said calmly. “I also know what symptoms are cause for concern.” She paused, then sighed. “How about I call John –”

“He doesn’t have the equipment –”

“At his clinic, I mean,” she broke in. “I’ll call him right away.”

Mycroft didn’t respond for several moments, and Molly could only imagine his frustration at being unable to take immediate control of the situation. “All right,” he said, sounding resigned. “But promise me –”

“If I have any reason whatsoever to suspect a problem, I’ll go to A and E at once,” she insisted. “I promise.” She listened for a few moments and bit her lip. “All right, I’ll call you later.” Molly rang off and handed the phone to Andrew, then took hold of the pram to reverse its direction.

“The car’s just –”

“It’s not far to the house. We can walk.” Molly looked past Andrew and saw the black car idling, illegally, just meters away. “How did you –” She stopped when she realized someone was sitting in the driver’s seat and turned to Andrew. “There are _two_ of you?” She looked more closely at Andrew and abruptly noticed his informal clothing. “Do you always follow me when I go for a walk in the park?”

Andrew looked away from Molly and sighed. “You need to talk to Mr. Holmes about that.”

Molly suppressed her own sigh at the thought of having that long-delayed conversation, then changed the subject. “Michael’s supposed to ride in a car seat.”

“I can assure you, Mrs. Holmes, that no one would stop us for not having one,” Andrew said as they reached the car. “However,” he continued as he popped open the boot, “the point is moot.”

“I don’t believe it,” Molly said as he removed a car seat identical to Michael’s at home. “You must prepare for _any_ circumstance.”

“We try to, Mrs. Holmes,” he said, opening the car’s back door. “Shall we?”

When Michael was settled in the car seat and Andrew had stowed the pram in the boot, Molly called John and learned he was indeed working at the clinic that morning. “Thanks, John. We’ll be there shortly.”

~~~~~

Molly hissed as John carefully rinsed her right palm under the stream of cold water. “Sorry,” he said. “I know it stings, but we need to get the grit out.” John had already cleaned and treated her forehead and covered it with a fast-healing dressing and cleaned a few minor scratches on her nose and chin. He’d also gone through a list of questions and checked for signs of concussion or any other hidden injuries. They both looked up at the sound of three quick raps on the door, and Molly wasn’t surprised when her husband strolled in. John’s glance went from Mycroft to Molly and back again. “Mycroft.”

“Good morning, John,” Mycroft said, studying Molly carefully as he crossed the room to stand beside her and lightly rest his hand between her shoulder blades. “How’s our patient doing?”

“Molly’s lost some skin, but it’ll grow back,” John said, giving Molly a lopsided smile as he gently cleaned her palm. “She’s going to be stiff and sore for a while, but she should be fine in a week or two.”

Mycroft’s fingers massaged a small circle on Molly’s back before he dropped his hand, hung his umbrella over the back of a chair, and stooped to release Michael from the infant carrier that was placed on the floor. He straightened holding Michael high on his chest, and Molly smiled when the baby lurched forward and mashed his face against Mycroft’s cheek. Mycroft seemed unfazed and simply slid his hand higher to support Michael’s back. “You don’t think Molly needs a scan?” When the baby poked two fingers into his father’s mouth, Mycroft gently removed them, kissed the little hand, and let the baby wrap his fingers around Mycroft’s forefinger.

“Not unless she gets a headache that worsens, has changes to her vision, shows signs of being confused …,” John continued going through symptoms of a possible subdural hematoma as he finished dressing her right palm, then had Molly put her left one under the running water. By the time he’d finished cleaning and dressing that hand and given instructions for changing the dressings, Michael had started fussing despite Mycroft’s attempts to distract him.

“He’s probably getting hungry,” Molly said, “and he may need changing, but I don’t have the baby’s bag.”

“I can help you with a nappy at least,” John said, smiling. “Back in a sec.”

When John left the room, Mycroft moved to stand in front of Molly where she was sitting on the examination table and shifted his hold on Michael to free one of his hands. Mycroft cupped the side of Molly’s neck and tilted her head back with his thumb, then studied her face closely. “I know you’re sore and the abrasions sting, but are you sure you’re all right otherwise?”

“Don’t worry … I’ll be fine,” she said, lifting a hand to cover his without thinking, then pulled her hand back and frowned at it. “These dressings are going to be aggravating.”

Mycroft brushed his thumb back and forth over Molly’s throat, then kissed her when she looked up. John arrived at the open door and quickly stepped sideways to remain in the corridor. He paused a moment, cleared his throat before walking in, then had to suppress a grin. Mycroft was now standing by the window, nonchalantly pointing something out to the baby, while Molly coolly met John’s gaze just as if Mycroft’s tongue hadn’t been in her mouth a few seconds before. When Mycroft turned from the window, John wasn’t quite as impressed by _his_ unruffled expression since Mycroft was a long-time expert at concealing any emotions. But then Mycroft crossed the room to accept the nappy, wipes and soft cloth with a quick thank you, carried Michael to the settee, and changed the baby’s nappy very efficiently – which _did_ impress John. Molly had told John and Mary that Mycroft was helpful with such practical matters, but they’d had difficulty imagining it.

~~~~~

“You don’t have to come home with me,” Molly told Mycroft in a low voice as they stood beside the car that had been driven to the clinic by Walter. She looked at Andrew standing by the other car and suddenly realized she hadn’t really seen the driver other than the back of his head. She could see the shape of him through the windscreen but no details because of the glare from the surprisingly bright mid-September sunshine.

“It won’t take long,” Mycroft said as he opened the car door and lifted the infant carrier onto the seat. Once he’d buckled the belt, he backed out and helped Molly climb into the car, then he rounded the boot and got in on the other side.

Molly met Walter’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Sorry for the unexpected side trip.”

The corners of the driver’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. “I’m just sorry you were injured, Mrs. Holmes.”

Molly huffed in exasperation and included both men in her eye roll. “I hardly think my scrapes merit this much fuss.” When Michael made a cooing noise, she leaned over the car seat to tickle his chin, then looked up at Mycroft under her brows. “It’s ridiculous and embarrassing considering the severity of injuries you’ve dealt with – and no doubt _caused_ – over the years.”

“I don’t know what you mean, my dear,” Mycroft said smoothly, then turned to look out the window, suppressing his amusement when Molly snorted.

~~~~~

Mrs. Collingwood met them at the front door, hovering as Mycroft ushered Molly into the house with a hand on her back while carrying Michael in his car seat with the other. “Are you all right, Miss Molly?”

“It’s just some scrapes, Mrs. C,” Molly said. “I had a clumsy fall in the park and certain … _men_ rather over-reacted.”

“Molly hit her head on the pavement,” Mycroft said calmly.

The housekeeper met Mycroft’s eyes with a brief nod, then stood back as the other three started up the stairs. “Would you like to eat while you’re here, Mr. Mycroft? I have lunch about ready.”

He looked back at her as they reached the landing. “Thank you. I’ll just get Molly settled first.”

Michael had begun to fuss in the car and his occasional mewling had changed to crying by the time they reached the bedroom. Molly went straight to the chaise longue, carefully stretched out on it, and then lifted her jumper. Mycroft had been right behind her and bent to open the nursing bra for her before stooping further to unbuckle Michael from the car seat. Once the transfer was made and Molly settled Michael at her breast, the silence was immediate … like turning off a tap ... until the slow, rhythmic sounds of the baby’s suckling became audible.

Molly sighed tiredly as she rested her head on the backrest and lifted her gaze to Mycroft’s. “Thank you for seeing us home, Mycroft, but you really don’t need to stay. Go have some lunch so you can get back to the office. I know you must have been busy when Andrew called.”

“You’re going to be stiff after sitting for a while,” he said, running his eyes over her.

“Michael will be ready for a nap after he finishes nursing so I’ll eat lunch then and take a walk afterwards to loosen my muscles,” she said, then quickly added when that crease appeared between his brows, “… with Mrs. C in the back garden.” When he kept studying her, she gave an exasperated snort. “I’m fine, Mycroft. Go eat your lunch. _Please.”_

Mycroft finally pulled his hands from his trouser pockets and stooped to kiss her. “I’m counting on you to take care of yourself.”

“I will,” she said, smiling up at him when he straightened. “Now _go!”_

~~~~~

“Mycroft …,” Molly began, hesitantly, late that night.

Mycroft rolled his head on the pillow to look at her. “Yes?” When she continued to stare silently at the ceiling, he shifted to his side and raised himself onto his elbow so he could see her face in the glow of the bedside lamp. “What is it, my dear?”

“Andrew.”

“What about Andrew?”

Molly turned her head to meet Mycroft’s eyes. “Is he my bodyguard?”

“No.”

“Does he always follow me on my walks?”

“No,” he said calmly, then sighed when Molly pressed her lips into a thin line. _“Andrew_ doesn’t always follow you – sometimes it’s someone else. And technically they don’t _follow_ you … they keep watch covertly from enough distance to allow you privacy.”

“Mycroft –”

“Is that truly a surprise, my dear?”

“And those times when I’ve driven you somewhere or when you’ve driven us? Are we being shadowed?”

“Molly –”

“Does letting me drive because I enjoy it put more stress on your security arrangements?”

Mycroft finally broke eye contact and rolled onto his back with a sigh. “I don’t want you to feel hemmed in, Molly. I want you to feel free to come and go as you please,” he said, then turned his head to look at her before adding, “… within reason. I regret having to place any limitations on your movements, but I hadn’t thought you found them restrictive.”

“Those I knew about, you mean.” Mycroft didn’t respond to that. “I don’t know how the Treasury agrees to budget for –”

“The government doesn’t, or not entirely,” he broke in. “Recent unfortunate incidents mean Sherlock’s high surveillance status these days is due as much to the government’s security interest in his activities as to his relationship with me. As for you, Michael and my parents, a certain level of security is provided for as an extension of mine.”

“And you personally make up any difference.”

“The cost isn’t an issue,” he said lightly. “And despite my deserved reputation for cold-heartedness, I find members of my usual security detail keen to put in extra shifts off-duty.” He lifted onto his elbow again and met her eyes as he reached to cup her cheek with his free hand. “Can we leave it at that? Will it worry you to not know more about our security arrangements?”

Molly stared at him for several moments, then lifted a bandaged hand to cover his. “What can I do to make it easier for you?”

“You’re doing just fine, my love,” he said, giving her a warm smile.

Molly returned the smile, then shook her head. “I may not like all the security requirements but I understand that they’re necessary. No, I _mean_ it, Mycroft – what can I do?”

“Well, you _do_ have a tendency to drive too fast.”

“I’ve got better about that!”

_“Hmm.”_

“Mycroft …”

“There’s one thing, but you may not like it …”

_“What?”_

“We have a driving course for protection operatives that focuses on defensive driving, situational, security and threat awareness,” Mycroft paused when Molly suddenly sat up and stared at him wide-eyed, then he continued, “car control at high speeds, skid avoidance and control, counter-surveillance …” He paused again and raised his eyebrows. “Of course you’d have to drive a range of vehicles on the test track, probably high performance cars –” He broke off, laughing, when Molly shrieked his name and launched herself at him despite her bandages.

Molly finally sat back up, flushed and grinning. “May I? Truly?”

“If you like.”

_“When?”_

“Your hands and face will need to heal,” he observed.

“That won’t take long,” she assured him.

 _“Hmm._ For now, you need to lie down and get some sleep,” he said. “Michael will be wanting you in a few hours.”

“How can I sleep with the thought of possibly driving a Lamborghini around a track?”

“It might be a Ferrari instead ... or more likely a Bentley.”

_“Mycroft!”_

“Oh for god’s sake,” Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t make me regret the offer.” He huffed a laugh under his breath at how quickly Molly stretched out beside him. “Good … now try to go to sleep,” he said, leaning over to give her a kiss.

“I love you, Mycroft.”

“Cupboard love,” he said, sighing dramatically.

Molly snorted as she nestled more closely against him. “You idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very welcome!! I love to read and respond to them ... especially to anything concerning Mycroft. I simply adore him. :)


End file.
